Quote: Pretending

“To pretend, I actually do the thing: I have therefore only pretended to pretend.”

― Jacques Derrida

False exteriors

A reader sent this from the comic Saturday Morning Breakfast:

The natural born chameleon?

My friend recently told me, "I think it's funny that you are so impressionable, that you think of yourself as a void, because you are one of the strongest personalities I know. You are so distinctive and peculiar."

I could see what she meant. Everyone who knows me for longer than a few hours realizes that I am "quirky." I say all the right words and do all the right moves, but don't quite have the social fluency to seem completely normal. I can also be very lazy about maintaining a mask, particularly in low risk situations or with people who don't matter. Despite seeming distinctive and peculiar, however, I am still extremely impressionable.

Some of the psychologists that I have talked to via the blog have expressed surprise that I consider impressionability and the related weak-sense-of-self to be sociopathic traits. I don't know why they would be surprised. There must be some reason why we are so good at being chameleons, I always just assumed that it was instinctive, a symptom of who I am. Blending in has more or less been a reflex for me as long as I can remember, as it has been for most sociopaths I have known. For instance, this reader:

I moved a lot as a child. I knew how to adapt a fresh persona and ways to gain friends in an expedient fashion before I knew my long division. I also was obliged to lie, convincingly so, about who I was. For years I wasn't even allowed to use my own name and acknowledge where I was from.

When you speak of impressionability, that for me was sort of a survival tactic. America has many different cultural microcosms that vary so much, if they didn't speak English you'd guess it was a different country. I had to learn the local social norms and adapt to them quickly, and also their accents and local lexicon. Even more lizard-brain style mannerisms would be local, like specific body language gestures. In that case, I guess it isn't necessarily lizard-brain, but you understand.

I essentially spent years learning how to be other people. So much so, that I had no idea who I even was when I was allowed to be Me again. I still don't even know if I have a real Me. And it doesn't bug me, either, if anything, it entertains me.

I know for a fact that I did some very odd antisocial behavior, like practice emoting in front of a mirror, accents, etc. but when I was that age, I didn't realize that everyone came with their own emotional cheat-sheet, and I was the only one that had to study for the test.

When I read things like this or think back on my own early experiences, I wonder -- do we learn how to be chameleons? Is it learned behavior to subjugate who we "really are," perhaps as a survival tactic? And maybe after we've pretended for so many years we just forget who we used to be? Or are we born with our shapeshifting abilities? Maybe we're like liquids or gases, always taking on the shape of our environment. Because we do have some finite qualities, we just have no where near the rigidity of the typical empath.

Guest song: Facade

Inventing yourself: dangerous liaisons

This is a classic portrayal of a female sociopath, but the general principles apply to everyone who knows they are different in an inhospitable world but refuse to just lay down and die.

Almost sociopath (part 1)

From a female reader wondering where she falls on the sociopath spectrum:

I've been reading your blog from your first post on since I found it at the beginning of this week (still reading, expecting your book by end of week).  It's...fascinating.  But, more than that, it often times rings shockingly true.  I've spent years studying sociopaths, but given much out there was negative I'd frequently told myself "well I don't kill/rape/assault" and thus couldn't possibly be one.

This being said it seems highly possible I am.  I have done "bad" things - taken what wasn't mine, gone places I shouldn't have, destroyed psyches and lives - with nary a care in the world.  ...In fact even the "I don't assault" statement isn't entirely true given I'd been in a few fights; but they were non-chargeable incidents, disbelieved by others (no one believes the adorably pint-sized blue-eyed, blond, girl is capable of violence, especially when she targets bigger kids and boys), when I was young and they were often provoked or a playfulness that went awry...I thought I was playing, the other person found me to be physically bullying.  What I've always found most troubling - still do find most troubling - was how not troubled I was/am.  When my friends wept at movies I laughed, when they seemed horrified by the latest terrorist threat I shrugged, and when they grew cross at something in the news I simply did not see why they were making the fuss (after all, it did not personally affect them, did it?).  ...I used to torment my best friend thinking it was playful/it didn't bother her and hadn't a clue what I'd done was considered wrong/cruel until junior high when she wrote an explicit poem on how it made her feel...and then directly told me that the poem was about our interactions.

I slip in and out of interests and infatuations with both things and people without a second look back.  When asked what I love I simply gauge the people I'm with and go with the most satisfactory-to-them answer - with nerdy friends I like Lord of the Rings, with jock friends I like weight-lifting and kick-boxing, and on and on it goes.  This holds true for people as well...while I've had a small handful (3-5) of friends for years, since childhood, it seems due to not being able to keep any others.  I make friends fast, easily, but rarely keep them - they all just seem to slip away on me.  Of course I confess others have run off do to some game I played with/on them that they were not overly fond of.  Whatever the reason though I find I don't mind too much provided I didn't lose them to someone else - this holds overly true in the romance department; people don't leave me, I leave them, and I'll reconnect with exes just to ensure, in the end, I left them.

I cannot, for the life of me, say with any certainty what/who I, myself, love.  I have interests, yes, and can hold them for years upon years, at times almost obsessively I've been told, but loves?  ...I don't know...

After knowing me for a while some people have mentioned my...personality.  High school friends called me the Devil's puppy and said I was like the manipulative Katherine from Cruel Intentions (the modernized Dangerous Liaisons with Sarah Michelle Gellar).  Another friend noted that I was "the one that gets people to do things and then hides in the bushes, laughing, while the cops arrest them" (she was unaware at the time that I'd, in fact, done something just like that in my earlier youth...my then friend got kicked out of that store as a result, it was hilarious to me).  Even my grandmother declared "that's you!" as I read off some sociopathic traits I'd learned of.  My eyes have been mentioned once or twice, but only in positives (in that they were attractive) except from enemies who've noted I "stare right through" people...of course I don't know if they mean through like into the "soul" of or through like the other person wasn't there.

In argument for not having sociopathy: I am female (thus making it statistically less likely, so the research says).  I do understand sarcasm - which you mentioned would be hard for sociopaths - but there's a caveat on this one: I understand it in my family and close relations who use it with great frequency, I understand the kind I grew up on.  If I'm with someone new - a new friend, a new mate - I'm slower to pick it up...especially if written out without a winky/smiley emoticon or some other signifier that states the person is joking.  I also can at least speculate why another might cry should there be a stimulus for it around - she's crying because someone in the movie is dying - and have cried once or twice at movies myself (the greatest emotion attached to my crying though is frustration, even in a movie situation where I'm often finding something keenly unfair in the narrative towards a character I identify with in some way, but still I cry at a situation I know, logically, to be completely falsified...something I hate, the sense I'm being manipulated into a feeling, which is probably why I'll never watch a movie that's made me cry again).  ...Of course these might be due to years of experience and/or my exceptions, not my rules, in personality.  Not sure.

Emotional palette

A reader writes about his "emotional palette":

Being this way, I feel like I’m an expert in identifying emotion because I rarely express any real ones, creating the majority of my daily ones from scratch. Like oil painting, I use mix of small amounts of mental garbage and physical movements that take on the form of a variation of the only three genuine emotions: anger, happiness, or sadness. Those are sort of like the red, blue, and yellow of emotions that can be used to make all the other various shades.

At least, that’s how I would break it down for the average emotional someone who doesn’t get that a lot of them are simply wasted energy.

Sociopath fish: bluestriped fangblenny

Does any of this sound familiar? From a science blog:


Nature is rife with charlatans. Hundreds of animals have evolved to look like other species in order to fool predators into thinking they’re more of a threat, or to sneak up on unsuspecting prey. In the Indo-Pacific lives a fish that does both and has the rare ability to switch between different disguises – the bluestriped fangblenny.
***
Its model is the bluestreak cleaner wrasse Labroides dimidiatus, an industrious species that provides a cleaning service for other reef visitors by picking off parasites and mucus from hard-to-reach places. The fangblenny’s intentions are less welcome. Its resemblance to the helpful wrasse allows it to get close enough to mount quick attacks on larger fish, biting off scales and skin (see image below for why it got it’s name).
***
Now, Cheney has provided further evidence for the opportunistic colour changes of this con artist. She captured 34 fangblennies of various colours and after 60 minutes alone, all the mimics had switched to non-mimic colours – it seems that there’s no point putting on a disguise if there’s no one around to see it.

When she added another fish, nothing happened unless it was a juvenile bluestreak cleaner wrasse. At that point, a third of the fangblennies swapped back to their black-and-blue coats. Cheney noticed that only the smaller individuals changed colours. She believes that as fangblennies grow larger, the rewards of looking like the smaller wrasse are reduced, so they don’t bother.
***
A disguise may look right to us, but our colour vision is very different to that of most animals, including those whose reaction actually matters. To get a more objective view of the fangblenny’s disguise, Cheney analysed the light reflecting off its scales when it went through its different colour phases. Sure enough, its black-and-blue form reflected light in almost exactly the same way as a real cleaner wrasse would.
***
The bluestripe fangblenny’s many faces gives it great versatility. By matching the colours of a variety of different fish, it greatly expands the area of reef where it can safely hide from both predators and potential victims. Unlike the mimic octopus, it makes no effort to change its body shape and some of its models, like the chromis, are very different. But in a shoal, that hardly matters. A superficial resemblance to the surrounding throng may be advantage enough.


I love everything about this fish: pretends not just to be a neutral fish, but to be a helpful fish, careful to project an image suitable to its audience, but of course only superficial changes because that's often advantage enough.

Dialects and self-awareness

The other day I get in an almost fight with a Palestinian about my accent. He happens to be in my country for work and we met during a poker game with some mutual friends of ours. He asked about my accent and I said that it does not originate from my country of origin. He thought I was lying. More than that, I think he thought my refusal to own up to also being a foreigner was somehow a way to insult his own pronounced accent. When he started to get belligerent I figured I would just lie and gave him a fake backstory about a thickly accented grandmother that raised me with absentee parents, which seemed to satisfy him.

With that in mind, I found this Slate article to pretty entertaining, perhaps even a parable. It discusses the rise and spread of an American English dialect called the Northern Cities Shift, "NCS" and had this to say about the acquisition of regional dialects:

Children acquire language from face-to-face interaction with their parents and peers, and this learning is shaped profoundly by our desire to fit in. People wring their hands about the supposed disappearance of dialectic diversity for the same reason that such diversity is not, in fact, going anywhere: We cling to our specific identities and peer groups, and we defend our individual and regional idiosyncrasies when and where we can. Our dialects are often the weapon readiest to hand in that fight.

Did I not acquire my own regional dialect because I was not necessarily motivated by a desire to fit in, at least not as a very young child? Or because I never really identified with my peer group? The most unusual aspect of the NCS dialect spread, according to researchers, is how unaware the "shifters" are of their own speech patterns:


If news of this radical linguistic shift hasn’t made it to you yet, you are not alone. Even people who speak this way remain mostly unaware of it. Dennis Preston, a professor of perceptual linguistics at Oklahoma State University—he doesn’t merely study how people speak, he studies how people perceive both their own speech and the speech of others—discovered something peculiar about NCS speakers when he was teaching at Michigan State University. “They don’t perceive their dialect at all,” he says. “The awareness of the NCS in NCS territory is zero.” (Well, almost zero. The high point for NCS awareness may have come 20 years ago, when “Bill Swerski’s Super Fans” was a popular recurring sketch on Saturday Night Live.)

According to Preston, most American dialect regions are oblivious to their quirks, but NCS speakers show a particularly striking lack of self-awareness. In one experiment, shifters were asked to write down a series of words, some affected by the NCS, some not, but all dictated by someone with an NCS accent. The expectation is obvious: Shifters should ace this test. But, amazingly, NCS speakers frequently did not understand their own speech. When they hear the word cat in isolation, for example, they seem to flip a mental coin to decide whether the speaker is talking about a common pet or a folding bed.

In a separate experiment, Nancy Niedzielski, an associate professor of linguistics at Rice University, told 50 NCS speakers that she was going to play a recording of a speaker from Michigan saying the word B-A-G, which she spelled out for them. She then asked the test subjects to identify whether the signal they heard sounded like byag (the NCS pronunciation), bag (the “standard” pronunciation), or baahg (a vaguely British pronunciation). Not one of the 50 subjects said that they heard the NCS pronunciation. “There’s just an incredible deafness to the local pronunciation,” Preston says—adding that the reason, in his opinion, is clear. “They believe that they are standard, normal, ordinary speakers, and when they’re confronted with evidence to the contrary, they reject it. They reject it in their daily lives, and they reject it even experimentally. They don’t even understand themselves.”

For me it's hard not to see parallels between these NCS speakers and your typical empath: oblivious to their own behavior, unable to see parallels in their behavior and those of others, unable to even understand the fact that they are failing to understand something that is relatively obvious to others. When people talk about sociopaths being able to see right through them I usually think, yes, but a lot of this stuff is obvious if you're not caught up in that particular flavor of self-deception.

But I'm glad that people think I speak with an accent to the point that they won't even believe the truth about me. It just makes it that much more easier to obfuscate. I guess people will just believe what they want to believe, right?

Travellers

Almost immediately upon arriving in a foreign place I try to imitate the natives as much as possible. Every day I pick up a new item of clothing, a new phrase, a new mannerism that will help me blend in. It must seem a little ridiculous or pointless now because I'm obviously not one of the natives, but I try anyway. I realize this doesn't make me a sociopath -- I could be a hippie backpacker, a travel writer, or a spy. But I think being a sociopath makes me this type of traveler.

Another thing I like about traveling is the chance to see how arbitrary your own culture's traditions are. Everyone makes a big deal about conforming to social norms and ostracizing those who don't quite fit, but that is just a tool of oppression. The social norm is not the important feature to society, the conforming is.

I don't think it's a coincidence that nonconformist Gypsies are sometimes called "travelers."

Sociopaths, mimicry, and blank slates

"I pick up on accents." That's what I always tell people when they ask where I get my accent from. When I hear someone speaking with a distinctive accent, I adopt it for my own, at least for that moment while I'm with them. It can get particularly offensive or dicey when I adopt the accent of someone of a different race or class from me and they think I'm making fun of them. I do it very naturally and the result, like that of many aspects of having a personality disorder, is that I don't really have the accent of my nationality or place of birth -- the default. What I have instead is a hodgepodge where people assume that I'm foreign, but no one can quite put a finger on where I might be from.

For sociopaths, mimicry is their metier, their bread and butter.

Hare once illustrated this for Nicole Kidman, who had invited him to Hollywood to help her prepare for a role as a psychopath in Malice. How, she wondered, could she show the audience there was something fundamentally wrong with her character?

"I said, 'Here's a scene that you can use,' " Hare says. " 'You're walking down a street and there's an accident. A car has hit a child in the crosswalk. A crowd of people gather round. You walk up, the child's lying on the ground and there's blood running all over the place. You get a little blood on your shoes and you look down and say, "Oh shit." You look over at the child, kind of interested, but you're not repelled or horrified. You're just interested. Then you look at the mother, and you're really fascinated by the mother, who's emoting, crying out, doing all these different things. After a few minutes you turn away and go back to your house. You go into the bathroom and practice mimicking the facial expressions of the mother.' " He then pauses and says, "That's the psychopath: somebody who doesn't understand what's going on emotionally, but understands that something important has happened."

I think mimicry is interesting, and I think a lot of empaths think it's freaky. What I find more freaky is what constant mimicry suggests -- that you have no baseline "you," that you are always just reactions to outside stimuli.

I have a good friend who was initially very frustrated that I didn't seem to have defaults: no default understanding of right and wrong, no default beliefs, no default personality even. Everything had to be reasoned, everything had to be constructed anew. It can be frustrating for me too. It's time consuming. And sometimes it disturbs me how impressionable I am. Being a blank slate, sometimes I can surprise even myself with non sequiturs or unpredictable behavior. It's sort of scary.